Our conversation started out of nowhere, veered anywhere but here, and ended up nowhere, like it had always been. In the silence inbetween, we counted the days to apocalypse, it just seemed fitting that way, and bizarrely fulfilling. We pessimistic bastards, finding the elusive in this grim, dimly-lit space: solace.
“I just wish someone would notice.”
“Maybe no one want to.”
“I hide nothing.”
“And show nothing. We ain’t mindreader, you know.”
“It’s hard to grasp, isn’t it? Connection?”
Context was something we made up in our own little heads. Sometime I was left wondering whether we even talked about the same thing at all. It mattered not. We were there, being, two strays letting each other probe the deepest recesses of our minds and hearts, who never got to actually unearth anything as we kept being true to the epitome of respect. We, who wanted to be found and afraid of finding.
“You have to be somewhere else, I reckon.”
“Let me stay a while.”
“Running away again, aren’t you?”
“Will stop once you do.”
Some said encounters were like lines on a flat surface. But we ain’t parallel lines, ain’t perpendicular either… Our lines crossed and separated, ebb and flow, and we got used to the rhythm, them big-words people making a point that our plane was non-Euclidean. Every meeting could be the last, as far as we knew. Nothing deterministic. It was a constant supply of dopamine, spaced as if we were guinea pigs in an experiment. Sometime I thought I saw someone similar in another thought-plane, but no one ever came close.
“I write letters all the time. Made copies of them in my mind, them as I see it.”
I traced the contour of the world, eyes shut. Could have heard footsteps shuffled beside me.
“Then this conversation might be one of your letters too.”
Light. Surreal. Would this be as easy as I thought it’d be like?
“I wonder. Then this is all just in my head, right?”
An arrision, warm and comforting. A fluttery laugh.
“Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”
“Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
-J.K Rowling, Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows